Parallel Planes
by Aitheria
Summary: A strange sickness has taken over the town of Chigwell. The Doctor must uncover the source and find a solution before it's too late, with the help of a young journalist named Briar, who's eyes the story is told through.


**Chapter One – The Doorman**

Silence had overtaken Chigwell in the wee hours of the morning. Nothing seemed unusual, or suspicious in any way; it was simply and average day, or night, at 4:30am. Soon the blackened sky would give way to glimmers of pink, red, and golden yellow. The sun would rise up, and people's lives would begin once again, as happens every Monday morning. However, this Monday morning would not be much like those others. Unknown to the town, so peaceful and normal in it's current state, trouble was brewing. This type of trouble cannot be fought by the average civilian, or even a prime minister, but only with the help of one particular man.

The Doctor crept along the silent streets with haste. In one hand was a torch, in the other he held, outstretched, his banner device, the sonic screwdriver. The only light on this block came from the dimly shining moon, and the sharp beam of light from his torch, cutting through the darkness with ease, searching. The Doctor did not know exactly what he was looking for, but he intended to find out, no matter how long it took. As he didn't like waiting, now seemed a better time to start the search then later, as he might just happen upon whatever it was. He had picked up the signal in the TARDIS about a week before. It was broadcasting a strange message, one which appeared to be directly for him, and seemed to be on a station that only his blue box could receive, unless a radio (or sonic screwdriver) were specially tuned.

"Sleeping town requires physician immediately."

Though he wasn't entirely sure what the message meant, he did not wish to wait long to find out, as the general idea that came to mind was rather sinister. So he homed in on the signal, directly in the middle of Chigwell, Essex, and returned to a spot in time relatively a week sooner than when the signal first went out. He had taken a position as a doorman for the time being, as he wished to blend into his surroundings for a while before whatever was going to happen, begun to happen. Now, after that relative week had gone by and his digging had shown no reward, the signal went out, and the moment it did, The Doctor was on its trail. He did not know where it would lead him, but he couldn't wait to find out.

...

What am I doing with my life?

I stare hazily at my laptop screen and sigh. Once more I have attempted to write something worthwhile, and once more I've failed. I analyze my situation with care. I must to have a new pitch for the board tomorrow, or I will almost definitely be sacked. It is almost 4:00am, and I've barely written a word. I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I can't concentrate on what I need to get done. Once I set my mind on doing something, I seem to avoid that thing at all costs. It's like I'm trying to screw myself over. I'm barely out of college! I need this job! Yet all I do is stare at this computer screen and shoot blanks. I don't even go out anymore. The few friends I have made sometimes call asking for me, but I never answer. Writer's block? Maybe. Depression? Possibly. All I know is I have a huge amount to lose, and I don't seem to give a single shit.

My stomach is grumbling. Slamming the lid of my laptop closed, I push myself off of my couch and walk into the kitchen of the small flat I've recently taken in the middle of Chigwell, Essex, roughly 10 miles from London. It isn't as cheap as I would have hoped, but it's relatively nice and the view is great. Wrenching open the door of the fridge, I exhale. Of course there is no food. I have had to cut the amount I am spending, as I am still paying off college fees, plus monthly rent. I am getting rather thin with lack of feeding. Deciding to procrastinate once more, I reach for my coat, slung across a kitchen chair, and leave the apartment, headed for the corner store.

The corner store is relatively close, and is open 24/7. After jogging down 6 flights of stairs, I reach the building's exit and push through without a word to the man sitting at the front desk. My conscience nags at me for being rude; I didn't even smile at him. I believe he's a doorman who started working about a week ago. I'll give him an extra big tip later on, though I'm not sure what he's even doing sitting at the desk so late. Tomorrow I will be off to London at any rate, and those thoughts of being rude to a doorman seem nothing compared to having no pitch to give in to the board. I think hard about sentences and the topic I'm trying to describe. How do I form words together in a way that gets the point across, but is still pleasing to the reader's mind and eyes? I've done it so many times before, but lately it seems so much harder.

The bright lights of the store jerk me out of my inner monologue. I open the door of the store and see a man almost asleep at the counter. Making sure to smile this time, I pass through and head to the aisle comprised of crisps and candies. Not exactly nutritious, but to be honest, I couldn't care less at the moment. I grab all I need and head up to pay. The man at the counter seems to be fully asleep at this point. I clear my throat - nothing.

"Excuse me, sir…?"

The man started, and gave me his widest grin, apologizing profusely. Finally my treats are rung up and I am able to leave. As I leave the store, a man bolts past, knocking me off my feet. He stops and turns back, and seeing that I am on the ground, rushes to my aid.

"I am so sorry, Miss, really I am." He helped me up and steadied me. As I looked into his face, I saw that it was the doorman. "Are you alright?"

"Y-Yes. I'm fine, it's alright." His eyes were so wide and concerned, it took me aback. He seemed unwilling to leave it at that, but at the same time something seemed to pull him away.

"I'm terribly sorry but I really must be going. So, so sorry." And without another word, he was gone into the night.

It took me several moments to recover. I seemed to be in shock, though there didn't seem to be much reason for it. Still, there was something about his face, something about the way he spoke those words. Then it really begun to hit me – why was the doorman running down the streets of Chigwell in such a hurry at 4:30 in the morning? What could he possibly be chasing? Now, I've always been an extremely curious person. It's always been difficult for me to keep my nose out of things that no one else would question. That's part of what lead me to journalism. I felt like I had to know what the story was there with him. It was 4:30am and I barely had anything done for my job. That was what I needed to get done, that was my real life. But being the ass I am, I decided I'd call in sick, and follow him.

I am a fast runner, silent as well. He was not too far ahead of me, and I could hear his feed lightly padding the pavement. He appeared to have taken out a torch, and I could seen the light moving up and down with his steps. There was a noise I couldn't describe, as well. It was soft, but obviously there. It sounded like high and tremulous radio frequencies, and the closer I got, I seemed to trace the sound to his other hand. He began to slow, though his pace was still sharp and deliberate. I had no idea where he was going, and I wasn't so sure he did, either. I made sure to keep far enough behind him in the shadows that he would not see me out of the corner of his eye. I kept as silent as possible as we wound through the streets. This town isn't very big, but I haven't been here long enough to have been everywhere in it, and if I hadn't been following him I might have been completely lost. I began to realize what a stupid thing I was doing. I was following a strange man into strange neighborhoods in the darkest hour of the morning. Still, something egged me on.

Several times he would stop and inspect a house, or a shed, or an electricity box, and I would stay hidden and silent, watching. I still had no idea what he was doing or where he was going, but my curiosity remained strong. Once in a while I would hear the radio-like sound die out for a moment, and he would swear and hit the thing onto his leg. The identity of that mysterious object was also quite interesting to me. Eventually, however, he seemed to give up his search as the noise died out completely. He did not turn back towards the direction of my flat, though, and so, I continued the chase. The sun was beginning to rise now, so it was much harder to camouflage my movement, and I had to be a lot stealthier, but he seemed too lost in thought to listen. We rounded a corner and headed into a park. There was a small thicket of trees, for scenic purposes, I imagine. He began to walk over to them, and moving the braches out of his way, began inside. This was the most difficult part for me. There were leaves everywhere, and sticks on the ground. It would be extremely challenging to make my way into this small thicket without making noise to attract his attention. To my right, I noticed another opening, but the floor of this was made of soft dirt, rather than twigs. I crept over to it and began to follow him through the leaves, being careful not to hit any myself.

What I saw in the middle of the trees was not so amazing, as it was odd. A blue police public callbox, like they used to have and use in the 1960s. I was at a loss to explain to myself why that would be here in the trees. I watched in between the bushes as he took out a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Inside? Why would he go inside? It was such a small thing; there couldn't be much room. As I raised myself and marveled at the strangeness of it all, the light begun to cut through the leaves, and a mist pooled at my feet and rose into the air. As it did so, I began to feel extremely tired and lightheaded, as if I were going to faint. The world around be began to blur in and out and I clutched at the trees for support. I didn't know what to do. Here I was in the middle of a small forest, with a man I didn't know inside a police public call box, and no one knew I was here. If I were to collapse, here in the bushes, who is to say that he would see me when he left? If I were ill, who would know where to look? I hadn't my mobile. I didn't think to bring it. The only logical thing to do would be to go to the doorman for help. No matter how embarrassing it would be, if I were going to faint, at least I'd need someone to help me. The world moved around me and I fought hard for consciousness. I made it to the blue box, the door still open, and clutched at the side to keep upright. Before I could speak, however, my mouth gaped as I looked inside. I saw him standing at what looked like controls, across a large circular room. _A room. _This was not an ordinary blue box. He looked around, and I saw his kind eyes meet mine, before all went black.


End file.
